PuckingSkylerShaw: Wait I’m the captain.
PuckingSkylerShaw: This is confusing.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Good night, Jacks.
Me: Night, Skyler.
I set the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
Skyler Shaw was in my contacts.
Skyler Shaw had my number.
Skyler Shaw had messaged me at midnight because he couldn’t sleep and wanted to talk.
To me.
None of this meant anything. Famous people made friends all the time. He was friendly, I was friendly, and we had things in common to talk about. This was normal.
My phone buzzed one more time.
PuckingSkylerShaw: Also . . . I watched that bottle flip video like ten times. The way it bounces off your forehead is chef’s kiss.
I grinned at the ceiling like an idiot.
Completely normal.
Absolutely meaningless.
I fell asleep on the couch with my phone still in my hand.
Chapter 8
Skyler
Coach blew the whistle so hard I was surprised it didn’t shatter.
“Shaw! What the hell was that?”
I knew exactly what it was.
It was me missing an easy pass from Tyler because my head was three thousand miles away from the ice—and it was the fourth time that practice.
Coach’s patience had run out.
“Sorry, Coach. Won’t happen again.”
“It better not. You’re supposed to be setting an example out here, not skating around like you forgot what a puck looks like.”
As he skated off to terrorize someone else, I took a moment to hate myself in peace.
He was right. My timing was garbage, my reads were slow, and I’d nearly collided with Erik twice during drills.
Tyler pulled up beside me, a cloud of ice dustingup as he scraped to a stop. “You okay, man? You seem out of it.”
“I’m fine, just tired.”
“We got back pretty late.” He nodded. “Didn’t sleep well after that?”
